The Journey Down
by Pierides
Summary: And the smoke cleared. Battered, bloody, and unwhole they stood united once again, staring at the summit they had fallen from. They had descended to the deepest depths. Now the only way to go was up right? :Sequel to "Before the Fall":


"_**Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." **_

--William Shakespeare, Measure by Measure--

* * *

_**Chapter One:  
It Ends Tonight**_

His chest ached. That was the first conscious thought in his head that he could remember having for perhaps hours. For that other length of time he had felt totally separate from his body. He groaned; why did it feel like he had been running a marathon? He took in a breath and slowly shifted to his side.

His muscles protested to the movement, and the stiff, cool ground beneath him upset his comfort further. The steady fall of water on his figure helped in that mission too. Where the hell was he? Why was he there? Who was he? He felt light and extremely disoriented—he couldn't describe the feeling at the moment however. He scrunched his nose and pulled his body into a ball—he was trying to remember why he would be asleep on something hard, and why he was outside. Yes, by this point he realized the sprinkles of water were rain.

"Hey, I found Even!"

He grunted at the distant voice. It sounded familiar. His head slowly agreed. It was coming back to him, he could feel the awareness creeping through his mind. Even, that _was_ his name. He began to shudder as the memory of a cold scream echoed in his head. It was his he realized. Why had he been screaming? His eyes fluttered beneath their lids as the memories came back. He was in Radiant Garden, he served under Ansem the Wise, the king, as an apprentice-

"You did?! Where?"

'Go away,' Even urged. This was a different voice, though still familiar. It had knocked his focus off. He grunted and searched for the memories again. It was a like a film was playing in his head. He began to shiver as his memories became more recent. His breathing picked up and he moaned in fright.

Suddenly he felt two hands grab his shoulders. Ironically, it was at the same instant he recalled his 'death'. His heart had been torn from his body. He screamed and bolted upward as he awoke fully.

"Damn it!" One of the voices from earlier hissed.

Then came the pain from his forehead where he had smashed against something hard. He sharply inhaled, his scream now dying off to reverberate around him, and brought a hand to his head.

"Man, I always knew you were hard-headed, Even, but geez."

His eyes shot open and he took in the two men, around him. Even forgot he shouldn't be alive for a moment as he smiled giddily at his two comrades. Standing to his right, grinning like he usually was Braig, though something was different about him. Lower and very near to him was Dilan, and in the light nothing seemed different about him. He bolted and wrapped his arms around the closer man, embracing him tightly as he yelped in delight. Dilan grunted, but did not try and force him off. For a moment Even just remained like that, hugging him before the man calmly tried to extricate himself from the desperate vice. Braig chuckled softly beneath his breath.

"What? Oh, sorry, Dilan," he whispered letting go of him. He man was still nursing his forehead so the apology was also for that. Dilan glanced up at him and nodded, and then Even's eyes grew wide. It was like an electric current had sizzled through his body. He suddenly realized where he. He was alive?! Dilan and Braig were alive? What?!

"How are you two here? Why is that-" Even abruptly stopped his expression falling into distress, "Hey, do you think this might be..." He purposely trailed off, too ashamed to finish.

Braig lost his grin, "Well, they say misery does love company." His answer was gruff and devoid of the mockery he had exuded earlier.

"It sure is quiet enough to be Hell, but it seems too peaceful, too welcoming." Dilan stood up and wiped off his dark slacks. Even hesitantly did so as well.

Xigbar snickered, "Purgatory maybe."

Even felt like a small child as he took in the appearance of the larger man. His red, long sleeve shirt was ripped up in places—most likely from his run in with Xehanort—but there on his chest, right over his heart there was a larger hole, more circular in shape. Even blinked.

"There's no sign anything happened to your chest. There's no gaping hole, nothing!" He turned his inspecting glare to Braig's attire. His blue jeans and shirt- which he was currently striping off- were ripped and bloodied. Even didn't hide his gasp at that fact, but what horrified him was that his white shirt was the bloodiest of all. The crimson stain, large and leading nearly engulfed all of the cloth. As if fell to the ground with a wet plop, the crumpled mass could have easily been mistaken for one giant blood clot.

"Braig, what hap-"

"A bloody Wyvern stabbed its damn beak through my chest. Bye bye heart." He commented in a less than pleased tone. "And you?" Even looked down at his green, long sleeve. He too had large chunks of his clothing missing especially over his own heart. His brown pants bore a hole on the right knee.

"I," he took a deep breath, forced for the third time to relive his 'death', "I had...my heart ripped from my chest by..." He turned his head now. "Xehanort ripped my heart from my chest." He whispered, but it had been heard.

"Bastard decided to try out our experiments on me." Dilan interjected.

Even nodded to him."He told me that, told me I deserved a worse death than you, Braig, or Ansem the Wise combined." At the shocked silence Even dared his gaze to find his friends again. There was little light where they were. "He disposed of the king himself, threw him, he claims into darkness."

Braig clenched his fists and Dilan cursed rather loudly. The first of the two then looked beyond Even. "I don't know how we're still breathing. I don't even know where the hell we are. But if the three of us are alive, there may be hope."

"Do you think Aeleus and Ienzo were able to stop Xehanort?" Dilan asked peering in the same direction. Even mimicked the gesture. Beyond them perhaps a couple miles, gleamed neon lights. Large buildings loomed in the sky, their shapes determined by the bright lights of the city. Braig took the first step down the path.

"I hope so," Even said to Dilan, "else we'll see them too. If we awoke here maybe they did too, it's only logical, if they died as well, I mean." He hoped that wasn't the case, though. He followed Braig, his chest still aching dully. He raised a hand and rubbed it over the spot, his fingertips touching the exposed skin. Why did his chest fill empty? Was this the effect of having no heart? And what did having no heart really entail?

He sighed, knowing that for the moment those answers were probably less important than finding out where he and the others were. Yet, something was bothering him. The conversations that had been going on, short though they were, were rather unconcerned. They felt too light and casual, even upon the mention of their horrifying deaths. The anger was still there, but it was more composed, more subdued. Dilan, Braig, and himself, Even realized were taking their newfound situation well—a little too well—and quicker than was healthily advised. Normally they should be enraged or in crazed panic at the very least. They could, for all he knew, be trapped in the nth level of Hell and he had a feeling that at the moment he and his companions would merely shrug with a rather unconcerned, "Oh well."

Even trailed behind a few paces as they walked the distance. Normally he would have verbally cringed at the length of road they would have to walk, but he said nothing now. He just didn't feel up to arguing over something so, he sneered at the word, non-consequential. What difference would the distance from the city make? In this world, where rain was their only greeter, what did it matter? He was still shell-shocked over the fact that his body was intact and he was breathing, but not as affected as he should have been so he thought.

He was so lost in his thoughts for a few minutes that he failed to realize that his friends too were saying nothing, not even amongst themselves. When he did come to discover this, he frowned. The shock and trauma was there, and in the silence the trio was trying to make sense of the here and now as well as the past. Each one of them was coming to terms with the fact that he should have been dead, and yet he was here walking down a path that lead into an unknown, city of lights.

By the time they reached the skyscraper haven, the rain was coming down harder and off in the distance thunder rolled. Even witnessed Braig wrap his arms about himself and Dilan shuddered a little. Even cocked an eyebrow. He was content, as if the chill wind was not cool at all. The cool rain, though, he could feel it did not affect him; he felt rather comfortable physically other than his still twanging chest. His thoughts veered from that confusing path only to find another when he stared at his two comrades.

"Braig, Dilan, what happened to your hair?" They both turned, but they said nothing pertaining to them; instead Dilan pointed at Even. "I could ask the same thing about you?" Even blinked and turned to the window display of a building. He walked closer and peered at the semi-transparent glass. In the lighted street's reflection, Even stared in horror at himself.

His once warm, honey blonde hair was a pale and icy testament to its natural color. His eyes had morphed from their turquoise hue to a very strident emerald--standing out sharply in his face which looked a little thinner than he remembered. He gasped, but did not turn his gaze from the window. Dilan and Braig had joined him as well.

"What the hell?" Braig blinked, running a hand through his soppy, now black hair whose color was offset by the gray highlights. His one newly golden eye glared at the man in the glass that was him. "I look ten years older!"

Dilan snorted, "I think you'll live."

His friend crossed his arms, "That's easy for you to say...Your hair just turned black!"

Dilan smirked, "Nah, you've always been jealous of my good looks." He winked one of his violet eyes and Even could only watch them blankly. Okay, so they were a little cold and uncaring about their condition, but this, this was too much. It was like they hadn't died and ended up stranded among giant abandoned concrete tombstones. He shot them a very bitter glare, now enraged that they were taking the situation so well when he had lost so much. He grit his teeth, his jaw soon aching, and preceded on his way, into the metal jungle leaving Dilan and Braig to catch up on their own.

He heard them soon come, but he did not turn around and say anything. His mouth was pulled into a bitter frown and his eyes set far forward. He was more than confused. One moment he was just as neutral as his friends, and then suddenly he felt like he should have from the beginning? What was going on here?! Finally, Even felt his skin become clammy in his fright. He had died, but he wasn't dead. He felt very perplexed then. He blinked and raised a hand to his head. He knew if the fuzzy feeling was any indication that soon a headache would plague him and he was having enough trouble with the hollow aching of his chest without that added.

It was like something had rubbed him raw within his ribs; he knew he had no heart, but didn't that mean he should have been one of those insect-like heartless? Or deceased? He groaned. Nothing made sense. Nothing! He glowered, forgetting for the time being, Dilan and Braig's transgression. He pivoted swiftly and without a word slammed his fist into the side of one of the larger skyscrapers.

"Damn it! DAMN IT!" He screamed. "Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?!"

Behind him Braig and Dilan had stopped in their stride. The street became eerily quiet as well when they stopped speaking. Even leaned his forehead against the wall and sighed, an agonizing expression on his face. He couldn't cry no matter how frustrated he was. It would do nothing besides anyway.

"Now, Even," Braig began, but the man turned an icy glare on him, shutting him up immediately.

"Don't," he warned, "don't you tell me to calm down! Unless you can fucking tell me where we are, don't you dare try to calm me down! You two are acting as if we're back home on the Garden, and we're not! Damn it! We had our hearts forcibly removed from our bodies by Xehanort! We were betrayed and now God only knows what is going on there. Hell, who knows how long we've been out?! Don't you understand, we should be dead! We should be heartless! And here we are, walking. Do you guys not feel strange, like there's a seeping wound where your heart should be? Don't you feel a little odd?! I hate it! I HATE IT! I'm scared and, and..."

"Even, is that you?" A voice called gruffly in pain. Even instantly stopped his rant, the anger flooding from his face and being replaced by surprise. He glanced in the direction the voice was coming from before turning back to Braig and Dilan. His chest fell, his hope fell. That sounded like-

"Aeleus?" Even tried to keep the melancholy out of his voice. Well, at least his emotions were acting normally now—strike that; for now his emotions were being logical. He disappeared around the nearest corner, where the voice had called from.

The sight that greeted him, though not horrifying was certainly disheartening. Sitting upright against the side of the building that Even had unceremoniously punched, sat Aeleus—at least what appeared to be him in the shadows cast in the alley. His long-sleeve shirt was far worse off in holes than Braig's, but unlike the others his shirt was not torn over the heart. The light blue material nonetheless was splattered in his own blood and on the side of his face, the rain was washing away a thick clot of the dark crimson liquid. There was no questioning as to why; it appeared that before his own end, Aeleus had received a deep gash on his cheek.

"Aeleus," Even sighed and the man turned to him with a grim smile. "I knew it, someone's yelling, it must be Even." He grunted and slowly stood up. "I thought I was alone there for a while." He leaned against the building for a moment, disgruntled but finding his only pain was muscle tension soon was following a wordless Even back into the lighted streets.

Dilan and Braig smiled at the man, the latter appearing trying not pounce on him like a monkey—Even had been a specimen of that behavior already. Aeleus's russet hair was flattened by the wetness of the rain. His eyes as he smiled were distant and Even knew what he was thinking. He was not acting as aloof; he was reliving his death, turning over every stone to try and explain the current situation.

"Did you defeat Xehanort?" Dilan asked, though instantly he regretted it. Perhaps he knew, or as Even more logically resolved it was the hard gaze he was met with by Aeleus's now steel hued eyes.

"Yes," he spat all the earlier humor gone from his voice, "that's why I'm here! I came to check on you guys and bring you home."

Even flinched. "Then there's no hope. I don't think Ienzo could have taken the man." His voice was hollow and dead. Aeleus snorted, his ire at his death still there. Aeleus was a sore loser, always had been, Even pondered, but never had it affected him so deeply. He was usually very collected and chose to work off his frustration in ways other than abusing his fellow colleagues, but Even supposed the situation was an appropriate one. To have died and failed, it wounded not only his pride but made him feel useless. And that was a feeling every man detested. He had failed and allowed, most likely for Ienzo's own end.

"That boy was scared witless. I doubt he even laid a hand on the man. He's sure to be here somewhere."

Even didn't say anything to the comment, but it struck a little raw.

"Well, that was some confidence." Braig commented.

"Let's start walking again then." Even chose to ignore him.

That journey was tense. Aeleus walked stiffly by Even's side. He remained sore at his incompetence and failure to stop Xehanort from his ends. Even couldn't help glancing sideways at the man, suddenly he couldn't understand why he was so mad. I mean, he could, but honestly what had he lost in the effort? Even felt he had suffered much more in that department. Aeleus was just being prissy because he'd been defeated, _oh the horror_! He snorted and for a moment his gaze locked on the neon signs; the language they were written in was illegible—he had never seen the likes of the odd symbols.

"What?!" Aeleus barked. Even then realized that his thought process had taken all of two seconds. His moody comrade had heard his disdainful judgment.

"What was that snort for?" The question was tersely repeated.

"Get over yourself." Even stated simply, without any deflection in his tone. His calm, level demeanor always spoke volumes; he was tired of playing games. Aeleus knew him well-enough to calculate exactly what his snort was for.

"Oh, and I guess your useless attempt was any better?! You didn't even hurt him!" Even flinched at the sudden gripping of his shoulder before he was pushed roughly. "You were pathetic!"

Even turned and glared at the taller, more stout man. "What did you lose?!" He screeched. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Braig approach the two of them. Even held up his hand. "No." He glowered at Aeleus. "You're the pathetic one! You lost, your heart is gone, yes that's terrible, but you're grouchy only because you couldn't put the bastard in his damn place. He took everything from us and you're pouting because he showed you up! We may have lost our future, our pride, and our chance of redemption. He took our lives, and look at how you're acting."

He abruptly pivoted on his feet and raised his head to the sky. "I finally saw life as more than books and experiments. I finally found a meaning to the word 'love' and he took that from me. He wanted _my_ Raine for himself. He took my chance at being a boyfriend, a husband, hell even a father away from me!" His form shook. "I never got to tell her goodbye, never got to apologize like I should have. He took Raine away from me and punished me for taking her affections for myself. I-I loved her and now...How do I describe it? I'll never get to find out what life would have been like if I could have seen her again, if what I really found was my other half. My world has fallen to shambles and all you care about is your damn pride! What about all the opportunities he took from you, Aeleus? Hmm?!"

Silence and the heavier patter of rain was his only answer. He shook his damp, dishwater blonde locks and pushed them from clinging to his cheeks. He began walking again, this time in a pregnant hush only broken by sloshing footsteps. Why was he leading again? Hadn't Dilan and Braig been the ones to find him? When had he gotten at the head of the line? And why, why was he the only one that was noticeably perturbed by their situation beyond the mere fact of their death, sudden reawakening, and the cruel truth of their losses?

He stopped walking again and growled. Would nothing make sense in this damned world?! He began to stomp through the chilly rain; it still did not affect him. His face was drawn in a dark glower and would have remained there for a while longer if not for the sound of sobs he heard in the distance.

He paused and with an observing gaze to his partners took off. They had not heard the sobbing yet over the heavy downpour, but they were following Even quickly. Their curiosity was piqued at what had drawn his attention, at least so he concluded.

He ran blindly, his physical heart thudding in his exertion. He didn't want to investigate the sobs. Fear at who he could find ate away at him. He knew who it was, somehow he just did. But he wasn't prepared for the sight.

Even's whole face went pallid, his heart skipped a beat, and his breath lodged in his throat. His whole body stilled. He stared at the hunched, nude male body beneath the red awning.

Blood was dripping off him lazily. So coated and sticky was his hair with the stuff that only few pearly sapphire tufts were visible. His pale blue eyes stared in helpless abandon at Even as tears rolled down his face and his cries shook his body. He looked like a bloody newborn child, only massive in dimension.

He knew the others had arrived when he heard their heavy steps halt as well. Even craned his head to stare back at his friends. He'd never forget the expressions on their faces.

Dilan had his face turned away in respectful honor. Braig's one eye was fixed on the small figure in unabashed pity and his mouth gaped in horror. Aeleus's face would be the one that would stick out the most in Even's memory. The man looked as if he had swallowed something caustic. Even knew then the man regretted all the words he had spoken earlier in anger about their youngest member because there was no questioning the identity of the boy. It was Ienzo.

Even was silent as he tore off his shirt; Braig's would have been a better fit, but it was lost to them and would have been too bloody already to have done any good. Besides—once again—the chill air was having no affect on him so Even did not mind relinquishing the soaked dark green cloth. Aeleus as well had removed his shirt, its sleeves longer.

Ienzo didn't protest when the two men hesitantly walked up to him and pulled him out into the downfall of water. Aeleus used his shirt to removed as much of the blood as possible, scrubbing at the lad's hair. It was still knotted and stained, but it looked better. Even pulled his shirt over Ienzo's head and like a father dressing his child, he pulled his arms through the sleeves. The boy was traumatized.

Aeleus wrapped his now even dirtier shirt around the young man's waist and hefted him up into his arms, cradling him. Ienzo had yet to talk. He was still whimpering, but with the rain it was hard to determine if he was still crying. Even thought he was.

"Let's see about breaking into one of these warehouses." Dilan offered, not saying a word about the boy when Even and Aeleus rejoined them. "We need to get out this rain and dry off. This city looks abandoned."

"Even and I can go scouting to see if we can find any food," Braig said and Even nodded.

Aeleus was silence in agreement, knowing that he was take care of Ienzo. They had always been more like brothers.

The group of five began walking again; none of them could ask Ienzo what had happened to him; to Even his state spoke volumes. His had been the worst fate of all. Xehanort, if ever they saw the man again would pay; pay dear and hard. Even knew each of them were inventing morbid and dark scenarios on how best to pay the man back. Even wanted to kill him—in the most slow and painful way as possible.

How blind they had all been! How sick could one man be to have done this to his teacher and his friends?

* * *

_How sick could one man be to have done this to his teacher and his friends?_

He felt ill just watching them gather the broken form of Ienzo. What had he done? Xehanort watched the group come back together; he heard their discussion. How he wanted to help them, offer them a place in the abandoned apartments he was currently residing in on the other side of the city. He longed to help them, tell them how to survive in this lonely world, but he couldn't. He couldn't face them.

He leaned against an outcropping on the roof he was situated on and watched the group leave. He was lucky none of them had examined the roofs of this area closely; if they had he would have been easily found. He knew he was to blame for them being here, wherever "here" was. He'd been here what he thought had to have been at least a week and still came up short.

Yes, a week. Xehanort, or as he called himself in "his" reports, Ansem had surrendered to darkness all those days ago. The man standing upon the building was Xehanort, yes, but there was something different about him. His amber eyes watched the retreating figures of his once comrades with what could only be said was deep melancholy and remorse.

This wasn't the same man. When Xehanort had been found and selflessly taken in by King Ansem, his heart was already being slowly corroded by darkness. At the time he couldn't have known this, but it became more apparent the more time went by. When the evidence was irrefutable, he had already fallen too far into his lust for power and vowed silence so no one knew the truth behind his strangeness. He would say nothing, the end was all that mattered—he would rule Radiant Garden and, the darkest side of him whispered, the whole universe. The light in his heart was locked away, choked, but not destroyed by the darkness. His mind was a haze of madness. He thought of nothing but gaining power, being the ultimate being. He had just given in. He cursed his weakness.

He was no better now than Even and the rest of them. He too was without a heart. Ironic that now he could see the error of his ways without that tainted entity within him. His mind, for the first time in a year was clear. No longer was it doused in the heady feel of darkness; heady and at the same time overwhelming. He had been drowning, unable to scream out for help.

His last conscious thought before he had given in to darkness and voluntarily lost his heart was Ansem's banishment. Xehanort shook his head, water dripping from his silver hair.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't want that." And he hadn't. If his mind had been clear, if he had not been possessed by darkness he would not have done any of the atrocious things he had. He stared up into the sky before glancing back to the ground. None of his thoughts were any excuse. He'd given in to darkness willingly. He should never have stayed silent, but it was too late.

He shut his eyes. No, he never had a chance. He had awakened on Radiant Garden possessed. He was a pawn of darkness from his beginning as Xehanort and now he was no longer anything but a shell. He opened his eyes and began pacing across the roof, finally moving. His colleagues were gone now; he could no longer hear their footsteps.

Just recently, he had begun to hypothesize what occurred to one who lost their heart. Their heart was lost, but their body just faded away, where did that body go? He thought he knew that now. This was where the body went, this purgatory. Whatever this place was, wherever in the plane of existence it was located was where the rest of a person went after losing their heart.

A shell—the body—and a soul. That was the reminder. Heartless were the darkness in people's heart or they were the heart itself, manifested as an insect creature because of the amplification of the essence. Xehanort knew that he was the embodiment of the remains after such a process and until this day he had thought he was the only one to have retained a physical identity.

On one side of the spectrum he was ecstatic that he was no longer alone. Ansem the Wise had chosen brave souls to be his apprentices, men whose hearts were strong. He had respected these men even when they turned on him. He wanted to applaud them; they had faced the darkness and though they had failed, they had not given up. Their presence here proved that. The other side of that spectrum he feared.

The man jumped from the roof and landed lightly on the ground, not daring a look about himself. He took off in the opposite direction he had seen the others go. He pulled the hood of his light gray poncho up. He was thanking the heavens he had found it in one of the various abandoned stores. He stuck out in the dreary brightness of the city, but his luck seemed to be running high, none of his companions had seen him yet.

Yes, he recalled the other side of the argument. It was not pleasant.

Xehanort had in some way a part to play in the deaths of the five men. He knew it; he remembered plotting such before he cast his body away. If he were to confront them the scene would not be a comfortable one—that was stating it lightly. How could he even begin to explain that he wasn't the same man they had known? Hell, would they even believe him? He wouldn't.

He listened to his echoing footsteps off the metallic city walls. He was going to have to confront them sometime. He shuddered, but not yet. No, he would watch them...maybe they would discover everything on their own. Perhaps it was better if he didn't interfere, but then he would be alone. He continued on his way. Such was an appropriate fate. He didn't deserve their forgiveness.

He'd been tainted. He was delirious from the moment he'd set eyes on Ansem the Wise and the world known as Radiant Garden. Was he really at fault for all that? He couldn't remember his past so how could he know if his possession by darkness was deserved or not? Well, he knew it wasn't a punishment he'd give anyone… not even the most morbid offender.

Xehanort knew what it felt like to lose his mind. It was a daily torture, but something, some lulling voice would whisper that it would stop. It never had for him. He'd lost his mind, his friends, perhaps murdered his teacher, and he was responsible even if distantly for his five companions sharing his fate: nothingness.

Was he forgivable? He wanted companionship. Wanted to explain to the five men he'd seen that he was safe. Yet, how do one even begin to apologize for the things he'd done? It no longer mattered that they had followed him willingly. He'd been the instigator of it all. What could he do to atone for that?

He paused in his retreat. They deserved to be left alone, never to see him again. Yet what if, what if he could help them? What if there was a way to return them to their original states? If hearts could be taken, surely they could be returned. Maybe together they could discover a way.

No, he was hypothesizing again. He was getting caught up just like he had before. His obsession would be another undoing, besides...he would never be able to convince them to listen to him again. That was an honor he had failed at; he truly would never be allowed it again by those men.

They were lost, though. He grunted. Fine, he would watch them, cautiously and carefully in his free time while he tried to discover what being this entity entailed. Yes, he had named them. "Nobodies"...because they were a part of the person that never should have existed.

Heartless, he was coming to realize, were not suppose to be born. Under "normal" circumstances the heart and the body were never separated. Ansem the Wise was right, and he, too stubborn and gone by then had not listened. What foul things ignorance breeds. He admitted it. As Xehanort, last apprentice of Ansem he had been the most insidious man to have ever walked those streets.

He clenched his fists and started up his steady pace again. He would watch them, because he wanted to help them, needed to help them. As of now it was the only way he saw he could redeem himself and prove his trustworthiness again. He could dream because he was sure they would not listen to him. They were more apt, and he didn't blame them, to want his blood in retribution for his deeds.

Such a lonely life he would lead if they did not believe his genuine remorse. He had no one except for the occasional ivory androgynous creatures that randomly jittered through the streets of this world. Well them and the heartless, and neither species of oddities had bothered him; they had neither been hostile nor friendly towards him. As of now they seemed to ignore his presence: the heartless because he had no heart to give them and the other castaways because—well, he had no idea. Those odd, thin, "things" just seemed indifferent to him. They were probably all in hiding right now, the new arrivals had scared them away. They too would be observing Even and his group from the shadows.

Xehanort turned his head upward for a moment and allowed the rain to fall on his bronze skin. He suspected the white creatures to be husks, the remnants of others that had lost their hearts. It was all he had to go by for now. They didn't look like heartless—they seemed more sentient and intelligent and had not the insectivorous form of the most lowly heartless. These ivory castaways were the other nobodies, whose will wasn't strong enough to keep their body intact, but whose bodies had to go somewhere after fading.

He wondered how many of them were his doing? Probably all of them, and he doubted their numbers were steady yet. He wondered what his heartless looked like? Okay, he knew that came out of nowhere, but he did wonder. If he had retained his physical form as a shell, what of his heartless? Another involuntary quiver crept down his spine. He sped up his escape. What had he done?

He deserved no one. He should be cursed to a life of solitary confinement. Such would be perfect fate for him as a Nobody.

* * *

_**Ta-duh! Here's the first chapter of the sequel to my story, "Before the Fall". I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll forewarn you: I don't know when the next update will happen. I've currently started a Dark Knight fanfic, which has dug its claws into me, but I've not lost the inspiration for this fic...The Dark Knight has just possessed me for a while.**_


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